hand, followed his example.

"Quite--ready," said the Prophet, shutting his eyes.

"Then," rejoined Malkiel the Second in a formal voice, "here's luck!"

He held the tumbler to his lips, waiting for the Prophet's reply to give
the signal for a unanimous swallowing of the priceless wine.

"Luck," echoed the Prophet in a faltering voice.

As he gradually recovered his faculties, he heard Malkiel the Second
say, with an almost debauched accent,--

"That puts heart into a man. I shall give Gillows an order. Leave us,
Frederick Smith, and remember that Miss Minerva is on no account to be
let in here till this gentleman and I have finished the second bottle."

The Prophet could not resist a wild movement of protest, which was
apparently taken by the young librarian as a passionate gesture of
dismissal. For he left the room rapidly and closed the door with
decision behind him.

"And now, sir, I am at your service," said Malkiel the Second,
courteously. "Let me pour you another glass of wine."

The Prophet assented mechanically. It seemed strange to have to die
so young, and with so many plans unfulfilled, but he felt that it was
useless to struggle against destiny and he drank again. Then he heard a
voice say,--